ASSHD 'Elementary'
by tigersilver
Summary: Next Gen; Hogwarts, 7th Year, Albus Severus & Scorpius with a great deal of implied H/D in the background. For ASS Fest. The boys have known one another for ages but until they went pubcrawling, they never really  ahem  knew one another at all. Fluff.


_**FIC: Elementary**_  
**Author:** tigersilver  
**Title:** Elementary  
**Pairing(s):** Scorpius/Albus Severus (**aka 'Several'**); Harry/Draco (implied)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Warnings:** None  
**Word Count:** 10,315  
**Summary:** See Prompt, please.  
**Prompt:** #46 (submitted by **tealeaf523**)  
**Notes:** I hope this everything you asked for, dear prompter. I had a blast with this and enjoyed the writing process very much, for which I thank you kindly.

**Elementary**

**Nine o'clock, Saturday, the Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade**

"Oi, Sev, 'nother while you're up, alright? Same again."

"And me—and me!" Lils bounced in her seat and sent her brother a Look.

"Pint, pint!" one of the Scamanders ordered. "Pints all 'round!"

"Yes, yes," the other added. "Shut up, berk!"

"Mulled cider, Several? If you don't mind?"

"Yeah, yeah, anyone else?" Sev grinned, "Since I'm the designated Elf."

"Er—gin and bitters? If it's no trouble." Scorpius Malfoy raised his eyes to meet Several's half-amused, half-annoyed stare. "Come with. Help you carry," he added, gesturing vaguely at the crowded bar and the harassed servers.

Sev's green eyes glinted behind his black-framed spectacles. He shrugged. "Thanks, er. S'right, though. I'm alright."

"No trouble," Scorpius replied, already shoving his chair back. He balanced on the balls of his feet, the pose of a Muggle fencer—or a Wizarding duellist—and Sev took a moment to admire. His Dad said Mr. Malfoy was much the same—built like a dancer, long and lean. Several had met Mr. Malfoy any number of times—he and Dad were a thing—but not really to spend a great deal of time with, one-on-one. Made things awkward with Scorpius, though, their fathers shagging.

Not quite…easy. Not quite…normal.

Scorpius joined him while he waited for the barkeep to pull pints and mix up, leaning up against the sticky mahogany and staring off into space. Malfoy the younger was never quiet like this; least not at Hogwarts. He was when he was around Sev, though, and that bothered Sev a bit.

"So, hey, your dad alright, Scorp?" Sev asked, after the pause dragged on too long. More because he thought it was polite. Scorp was Lils' friend, despite the few years difference, and he and Several were fringe acquaintances and connected in this weird sort of way. Thanks to Dad, more than anything else. Several didn't care, really, about Dad and Mr. Malfoy, but an effort had to be made somehow.

"Fine. Yours?" His voice was the usual cool composed tone he always used with Sev; none of the loud laughter or snorting giggles or brashness he displayed when he was with Lils or the other Gryffs.

Sev transferred his gaze to the taps. "He's good. Sent a letter—with cold, hard cash enclosed. A cool hundred Galleons."

"That so?"

"Said to blow it all having a celebratory drink for successfully graduating—on him."

"Mine, too," Scorpius observed laconically. "Fancy that."

"Order up!" the barkeep said. "That'll be ten Knuts and five Sickles, Several Potter, if you please."

Several slid the coins across the bar's surface, Scourgifying the whole thing when a Knut stuck in a sticky puddle. "Hey!" exclaimed one startled patron, a few seats down, who'd just gotten his stubbled cheek scrubbed clean.

"Sorry, sorry," Sev mumbled. He'd a tendency to fix things without asking first; Jamie always was nagging him.

"Here, let me." Scorpius was already Levitating the drinks back to their table. Sev left a tip and followed, weaving in and out the Saturday night crowd. They weren't the only ones celebrating, and he saw lots of his fellow Sevenths, as well as a good representation of lower classmen present.

"Hey, Sev!" Mindy Postlethwaite sang out. "How goes?"

"S'good, Min." Sev stopped to chat with her. They'd dated last year and were still good mates. She was Ravenclaw, same as he, and already had a position in the Ministry lined up.

"Join us?" Mindy wheedled, patting the sliver of bench next to her. A few of the other booth occupants rumbled peevishly and made some more room.

"Can't, sorry," Sev replied. He glanced over at his own table, where Malfoy was passing out orders. "Gotta mind the little sister, you know? Lot of us elder brothers."

"Poor you!" Mindy's laugh tinkled like broken glass. Lils had never liked her, anyway. Had no issue with informing Sev of it, either—stringently. "See you in Town, then? We'll catch up?"

"Yep, yep," Sev smiled and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, bending over and feeling nostalgic. Likely he wouldn't, but no harm in saying he would. Connections were always a good thing. Should keep 'em up, regardless.

"See you 'round, yeah? Don't be a stranger, Sev." Mindy ran a hand down his arm, regretfully, and Several pulled away, albeit politely. He looked over to his table again. Lily had plopped herself on Malfoy's lap and they were giggling madly, heads together, a far cry from the cool reserve Malfoy always showed _him_.

Oh, well. Nothing new there.

Several shrugged and made his way back to his own seat.

Didn't care, really. No skin off _his_ nose.

**Eleven o'clock, Saturday, The Gargling Gryphon, outskirts of Edinburgh, Wizarding Quarter.**

Scorpius watched him. He spent a lot of time watching him. It was rather a hobby of his, tracking Sev Potter. Right now, for example, Sev's face was lit up like a Christmas tree, mainly because he and Glinda Goyle were discussing an Arithmancy question from NEWTS. It was faintly disgusting, Scorp mused, that Sev was such a typical Ravenclaw, but also nicely different. The Gryffs were all loud and boisterous and derring-do, but Several was cooler. Not chilly, but so laid back and mellow that it would take one of those Muggle atomic bombs to disturb him. Abstracted, like the ruddy geek he was.

Scorp knew, from experience. He'd spent a fair amount of time with the Potters over the years, both before and after Mr. and Mrs. Potter had procured their apparently amicable divorce, and Sev's Dad and his own had hooked up. Sev had been to the Manor, too, for hols and festive occasions. They'd always been fine getting along, he and Several.

But nothing more exciting.

"Your tongue is showing, Scorp," Lils bumped him. "Put it away before he notices."

"What _are_ you still doing here, brat?" Scorp, in no way abashed, turned to her. Sometimes he really wished Sev would notice. "Thought all you kiddies went back to school?"

"Not a fucking kid, Scorp," Lils grumbled. She took a long pull of her Cosmo to prove it, possibly, and then sat back, eyes speculative. "So…when are you going to make your move, Scorp? This is it, you know. Showtime."

"Shut it," Scorp said good-naturedly. "None of your business, little girl."

"Coward!"

Lils eyes sparkled. They were greenish-hazel, a pretty cross between the two Potter parents. Sev's eyes were just like his Dad's, a brilliant emerald, changeable as the leaves in the Forbidden Forest. Scorp liked watching them, especially when Sev blinked. He'd lashes like broom bristles and wonderful arching brows behind the dorky frames of his ever-present Potter-style spectacles—very expressive. Pity they didn't sparkle like his sister's did, when they glanced Scorp's way.

"You're scared, aren't you?" she giggled delightedly. "Great big Quidditch hero, and still too ruddy scared to make a move."

"_Not_, baby Potterling," Scorp shot back, though he shifted uneasily on his bench. Sev was a few seats down and now he and that blasted Glinda bint had their two heads very close together and were sketching trajectories on the table's surface from the looks of it, using stray spills. Sev seemed enraptured. The Goyle chit looked to be enraptured with Sev.

"Not at all, so put a damper in it, Lils," he added calmly, refusing bait when Lils huffed impatiently. "You should Floo back to the Broomsticks now; you know; go home. Rising midnight. Curfew."

"Hah!" Lils scoffed. She patted her capacious purse. "I've the Map, finally. Safe as houses. No worries, mate."

"Still…your sibling's got your number, Lils. He'll chase you off, soon enough."

"Hah double hah!" Lils snorted. "Like to see him try," she added, giggling contemptuously. "Besides, I'm on a mission tonight. Dad said Sev should loosen up a bit. I'm here to see he does."

"Yeah? Your Dad did?" Scorp couldn't help himself. Mr. Potter always amazed him. Looked a right bloody hero, what with all those flapping scarlet robes, but then Scorp would stumble across him and his own dignified father shagging in the morning room on a Sunday and then Mr. Potter just looked like any other man. A happy man.

He wondered what Sev was like when he was cumming. Did his face screw up that same way, as if he were in total agony, but not? Did he moan and scrabble his long fingers for purchase on his partner's willing body or was he just as mellow during shagging as he was in Potions?

Scorp would give an arm and leg to find out. Or maybe more.

**Midnight, the Leaky, London**

Lils was weaving, just a bit, even while sitting. Too many Muggle Cosmos under her narrow, waist-cinching belt.

"Come on, little girl," Scorp said, hoisting her up and off a Scamander twin's lap. "Take you back now."

"Oh, oi!" said the Scamander, his drink sloshing. "Watch yousel', mate!"

"Yeah, yeah, you," Scorp returned, peaceably. "Sorry!"

"Want a hand?" Sev's voice called across the booth. He'd moved on to chatting with the Feverfew chap—Michael, wasn't it?—a cool blond with looks to rival Scorp's own. Scorp had all but bitten his lower lip through with bilious jealousy.

"Sure," Scorp replied amiably. If it detached the middle Potter from yet another potential distraction, that was all well and good. "Please," he added, always polite to a fault.

"Don't wanna!" Lils protested, flapped her newly manicured paws. Her nails were festooned with little lion heads emblazoned on the scarlet polish; golden ones with minute emerald eyes. Scorp grinned when he noticed. Lils was a right handful. He wished the Potters joy of her, with no one left in Gryffindor to keep her in line after he graduated. "Not goin'!"

"Uh-huh," Sev nodded. "Right, Flower-girl, come on. Let's be off."

"I've a misshion, I tell you!" Lils lurched right up, brandishing her bag and teetering on three-inch heels. "Wanna stay! Not done yet!"

"Right, right," Scorp soothed and stuck a brotherly arm 'round her waist. "You want to get that?" he nudged Several quietly, his gaze fixed on Lils' huge purse. "She's going to bean someone—knock 'em flat."

They Flooed back to Hogsmeade, to the Broomsticks, and managed to extricate Lily from the beckoning bar scene _sans_ another cocktail. Took concerted effort, that, and the both of them, working together.

"Promish me, promish me, Shcorp," Lils mumbled softly when they at last arrived at Hogwart's main entry, her head tucked firmly into the crevice of his shoulder. Several stood back a few paces, keeping watch, whilst Scorp's Patronus did its job, rousting out a Housemate to come retrieve his pretty burden.

"Promise you what, Lils?" Scorp asked finally, to soothe her. She was agitated, and he hated that. Potters were quicksilver, emotionally, or so Scorp had noted over the years of exposure. Had to be wary, especially with that Weasley temper in the genetic soup.

"Promish me you'll make 'im relash—re. _Lax_." Lils took a moment to enunciate the word distinctly the second time. Her bleary face tipped up and Scorp met her hazy gaze with an intent one of his own.

"Look, Lils, there's a stash of Hangover Potions in the Seventh Year boys' dorm, in the toilets. Make that prat Wrigglesworth fetch one for you, alright? _Before_ bed."

"Make. Severush. Re. Lax," Lily commanded, all at once seemingly stone cold serious. "Shhcorp. Shhut 'im up, shhit 'im down, make 'im drink, sshag 'im, don' care—whatevah!" she whinged. "Juss'tha' Dad says th'sshhilly git'll 'ave a fucking 'eart attash if he doesn'. S'kay? Promish me, Shhcorpy?"

Scorp stared at her and desperately hoped to Merlin her elder brother wasn't listening too closely to her drunken mumblings. This was really not a good thing, not at all. Several Potter was fairly well walled up; people didn't 'make' him do things he didn't want to. Scorp had never even tried.

"He looks fine to me, Lils," Scorp replied slowly, attempting to pet her ginger hair and manfully ignoring the nickname. 'Scorpius' was never 'Scorpy' in any universe, no, sir. "Perfectly normal. Nothing wrong with a chap tying a good one on before graduation. Cool your jets, yeah?"

"Hessh'not, y'know. Fools ya'," Lils giggled shrilly, shrugging him off. Like a bloody siren, she was, her too-loud voice ringing out in the peaceful quiet. She waved a careless hand and the little lion heads emitted tinny roars. "'im!" she sneered, unnecessarily pointing out her brother's presence and nodding to herself in sagely glum agreement. "S'not."

"Lils…"

Scorp almost hushed her with a Muffliato, but didn't, finally. Better not to set her off on a real tear, which would definitely happen if she was thwarted, spoilt bint. Quiet was the key word when it came to sneaking back into school after hours, even if there were only three days left of term. Filch's ghost was as much a holy terror as good old Peeves.

They'd all disperse, then—at end of term. Like dandelion fluff, the Seventh Years. He was set up to be interviewing at Gringott's, come next Friday, for an internship in the trading division. Several Potter was being courted by Flamel Uni for a research position in Applied Arithmancy. A hundred or more leagues apart they'd be, physically, but no more distant than they were already. They'd see each other in the future at family gatherings and the like, and not in the hallways and class and faffing about quaint old Hogsmeade.

There went Scorp's all-time favourite hobby.

"Promish me?" Lily was pleading; nagging actually; hadn't stopped for a second and it reminded Scorp of the Firstie she'd been, years ago, defiant and a little displaced, even with Jamie in Gryffindor before her. He'd been noticing Potters—especially Sev Potter-since they'd met that first time going down to Hogwarts on the Express, though, so it wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with that pleading expression. He'd watched Several use it to great effect on _his_ Dad, and on Jamie, too. Mr. Potter used it on Scorp's Dad, for that matter, and fuck, but it worked like a NEWTS-level Charm. It was a Potter thing; something they just did. Fucking brutally effective.

"Schhcorp?"

Always made him ache to see Several do it—when he was in a position to catch him at it, that was. A sudden pang bloomed, right in the middle of Scorp's chest cavity, like bombs exploding inside. His hands would clench automatically and he'd hide them quickly in his robes or jeans pockets, afraid someone (Sev) would notice his reaction, and he'd focus on solely on maintaining steady respiration. Terrified Sev would think he was…not quite right in the head. Mental or something. Obsessed.

"Yes, luv," Scorp nodded, mainly to convince Lils to shut it. "Oh, hey, Branwen," he added, when Lils' roommate appeared. "Good thing it's you, yeah? Deal with this idiot?"

"She alright?" Branwen Longbottom joggled Lily's flapping elbow, easing her gently away from Scorp's chest. "Come over, ducks; that's it. I've got you."

Several swooped in close all of a sudden and made sure Lils was fully settled, with her arm clasped 'round safely her Housemate's neck. He handed over her purse to the patient Branwen.

"Brainless nit," he scolded his sister. She grinned, unrepentant. "Longbottom, there's a cache of Sobering Potions in the Third Floor girls' lav and another in the big broom cupboard by the Great Hall. Summon a vial on your way up, yeah? Little twat doesn't deserve what she's got coming."

"Severush, Severush, Severush, why don' you ever…?" Lils mumbled, trailing off in a rambling rhetorical slurry of words, seemingly incapable of finishing the thought. Branwen smiled grimly over her bowed head.

"Not to worry; I've got it. Have fun, you two. See you in the morning, Scorp."

"You shoulda', shoulda'…" Lils piped up again, evidently not quite finished. "Shhcorpy!"

"Prat," Scorp ruffled her hair fondly, on the verge of turning away. "Get some sleep. And down that Potion—you'll need it."

She hiccupped loudly and glared at him with the force of a scorned woman. _'Hell hath no fury' and all that,_ Scorp thought, grinning. But it was fierce enough that even her older brother turned back to humour her.

"Should've what, Lils?" Sev asked.

Lily Potter fixed Several with the 'Malfoy Look'. Scorp had learnt it off his father and then taught it to a few of his favourites in his House. Lils was a natural; she almost pulled off 'sober' for a moment, it was so intense.

"Ssshoulda' shheen under your ssshtupid nose, Sssheveral Potter!" Lily stated grimly. "'Cuz now issh too late!"

"Lils?" Sev blinked.

She flipped a wrist in Scorp's direction, where he was quietly waiting—smirking, too, and allowing Longbottom and Sev get on with the managing of the Unmanageable Lily.

"'im," she replied airily, shrugging. "Shhcorpy 'ere. Got a fansshhy for you tha' jus' won' diiiie, Shev! Evah sinsssh evah—the Espresshh, maybe-I dunno? Yeah, thass'hit—the Expresshhh. E'toll'd meee—schhomeone toll mee..."

Lily bit her lip fretfully, visibly struggling with past memories. Scorpius flushed a dull crimson and crept farther back into the convenient shadows cast by the Great Hall's doors, out of Sev's direct line-of-sight.

This, he didn't need. Not to be outed, and certainly not by a well-meaning, stinking drunk, baby Potterling. But maybe Merlin would smile upon him and Sev wouldn't remember Scorp's shame, come morning. And perhaps drinking heavily was the answer to all of life's little random humiliations. He'd have to cover the price of the next few rounds at the Leaky; make sure of it.

Maybe. Sev _was_ a Ravenclaw, and everyone knew what _they_ were like.

"Jush'eeeaz 'up a l'il, big bro'. Le'it 'appen?" Lily was urging her somewhat bewildered brother, fluttering heavily mascara'd lashes. A clearly puzzled Several sent a darting glance at Scorpius's perfectly bland expression, half obscured by shadow. Scorp met it steadily, never wavering. He was a Gryffindor, and backing down wasn't on. Bravado was. Also outright denial—worked very well, that. He'd try it on, as required.

"Er—sure," Several nodded obligingly. He shrugged off his minor puzzlement and Scorp breathed a silent sigh of relief. _Maybe…just maybe_. "Whatever makes you happy, Lils. Now, Longbottom, listen. Hydration's very important at this stage—"

"Yep," Branwen said practically, cutting him off, and increased her grip on a drooping Lily. "I know all that. Not stupid, Potter. Come on, girl. Time for beddy-bye."

"''_uuvzz_ you! _'im_! Bo'sshhtupid gi's!"

Lils yelped that last, twisting about wildly despite her dorm mate's death grip, just before she was dragged away into Hogwarts proper. Scorp wasn't exactly sure whom it was meant for, Lils' voice was so garbled. Him, who'd been her friend and mentor from the beginning or Several, her mostly adored elder brother? Or simply _him_ again, crushing endlessly on Sev, who never, ever noticed? But not _him_—the Several Potter who was eternally unbothered and oblivious, and especially by and of certain Gryffindors.

It was a puzzle, Several's obstinate blindness. Git was a fucking genius; didn't make sense. Scorp would've thought he'd have been outed long since, but puzzles were a pain, so they should just go and drink some more. Besides, Scorp only worked puzzles when he was sober, unlike Sev, who worked them all the time, just for shites-and-giggles.

"Drink?" he asked, stepping up with a mental shrug and stuffing all the messy emotional spaghetti back where it belonged. He managed a proper hold of himself and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Sev?"

"Oh!" Several started, stepping back. He blushed and nodded uncertainly, fidgeting from one foot to the other. "Yeah, sure, why not? Let's go. Maybe they're all still at the Leaky, yeah?"

"Maybe," Scorp smiled easily. "We'll go see, yeah?" He'd learnt a thing or two, watching his Dad deal with Mr. Potter. One of them was how not to grab without asking first. The other was how to adore someone without ever breathing a single word about it.

Great things to have, parents. Role models.

**One o'clock, Sunday, Amaranth's, Particular Alley, London. **

"Guess we lost 'em, then," Several observed. "Pity."

"Yeah, it's alright."

"Mmm," Sev nodded over his pint. He'd switched to a Muggle lager and was eating beer nuts like he was blind starving, though Scorp had watched him down an easy four thousand calories just at dinner. Several was always doing that—eating half his weight again. Still, for all his air of treacley calm, he moved quickly; burnt it off.

"Saw you with that Mandy bint, earlier," Scorp remarked, trailing a fingernail down his own gin and bitters glass. Kept his eyes on the condensation, mostly, and not on his companion. "That on again?"

"Hmm?" Several startled out of the brown study he'd fallen into and glanced up, shrugging. "Oh, no. Done up ages ago. Too settled, yeah? Wants kiddies straight out of Hogwarts—picket fence, the whole lot."

"Not for you, then?" Scorp's turn to shrug. "Nappies and nannies?"

Several grinned, and Scorp's heart leapt up to lodge in his throat. Predictable.

"No…" he allowed, taking his time. "Not yet; maybe not ever. Want some action first, right? Adventure."

"Er—what sort of adventure?" Scorp asked curiously, hand tightening on his glass. Silly heart. He'd be relieved when it was no longer subjected to this irregular sort of strain on a daily basis. And, post-Hogwarts, it wouldn't be, would it? "Aurors, like your dad?"

"No, not that." Sev flapped his fingers, reminiscent of his younger sister. "Macchu Picchu like. Ayers Rock. The Taj—the Pyramids. All that. "

"Muggle places, then?"

Several's eyes narrowed and he squinted at Scorp suspiciously, cocking his chin.

"Something wrong with Muggles, Malfoy?" he demanded. Scorp chuckled. Sev looked just like his Auror Dad, in those newspaper clippings his own father had collected so religiously over the years. All righteous and indignant and classic Mr. Fucking Hero Guy. It was a bloody cute look and he was forced to swallow more of his drink to convince his recalcitrant chest to settle.

"Oh, no," he replied airily, nonetheless. "Matter of fact, my father's shown me a few of 'em."

"Really?" Sev's mobile face was intensely interested—enraptured, much as it had been at the Gargling Gryphon. "He has?"

"Take you along, if you want," Scorp offered, and froze solid for a half a sec. He drank deep of his mostly-gin-with-very-little-bitters to cover up the telling pause, and kept his eyes firmly cast down. Hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to say anything, really. Awkward and all that, what with their fathers…as they were.

"I'd love to go," Sev jumped right on Scorp's offer, and was enthusiastic enough to stop his slouching. "With _you_, if you mean it. I'd _really_ like that, Scorp—we should. That'd be brill."

Scorp blinked furiously and wondered if perhaps he'd had more alcohol than he remembered. His head was certainly spinning. Knees were off elsewhere; not present. Gut was wobbly as shite.

"Yes, alright." He gulped, and worked on sticking his bland mask on properly. "Sure. We'll do that."

**1:50 a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

"What?" shouted Sev, and trotted after the taller form of his classmate. "What's that you say?"

"Table!" Scorp shouted back and waved at an empty one—a booth for two, back in the farthest corner. "Get one!" The Paphian Club was loud and boisterous, reeking of booze and sweat and—in the loos—the unmistakable scent of cum. It catered to all sexes, in the true Græco-Roman spirit, and Scorp had been once or twice before with Jamie and Teddy, back when he was a randy Sixth in need. Need, at the Paphian, never went unfulfilled.

Scorp needed to dance at this particular moment; work off some nervous energy and _not_ sit next or nigh Several Potter. He needed other bodies surrounding him to remind him that this especial one was firmly off limits and that he was alright with that fact.

Sev, it seemed, wanted to dance, as well. They'd no sooner sat, with drinks appearing before them, than he was up again. And the grace Sev showed in Duelling Club was evident on the dance floor. He moved like quicksilver, too.

"Come on," he urged eagerly, rocking on the balls of his heels, jittery. He wore short boots, too, and skinny black jeans and a ribbed-knit jersey, all black. Scorp watched the sway travel up his knees to his hips in a come-hither fashion and clambered to his own feet with all the elegance of an over-laden Bactrian. Stupid, stupid heart.

"Yes, yes, alright, coming," he mumbled crankily, and forced himself to take up a position a foot or so apart from his—what? Mate? Lifelong acquaintance? Son of the fellow his Dad was shagging? Er…honorary sibling? Persistent pash? "Why not?"

"Did'ja mean it?" Several shouted, and between the press of the people and his own sliding step forward, his torso was pitched against Scorp's chest in a trice. He spun away again, leaving Scorp gasping. "You did, right?"

Scorp gulped, grinning tentatively. Not good, this. Not at all good. But…very good, all the same. "What?" he asked—or rather shouted; it was deafening—as casually as possible. "Mean what, Sev?"

"Back there," Sev gestured vaguely over his shoulder, presumably at the past and Scorp's off-hand offer, and brought his whipcord-taut self closer to Scorp again, twisting his hips sideways. They were both twirling in place now, bumping bits-and-pieces but not quite touching, and Scorp finally remembered he should be doing something meaningful with his own feet and not simply shuffling. "About taking me there? All those places?"

Scorpius shut his eyes in abrupt agony. Sometimes things changed monumentally in a blink. No warning. _But, there's so many places I'd take you, Sev—if I could, _he thought. _My bed, to start._

"Showtime," Lils had said. Fucking Cassandra.

**1:59 a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

Scorpius Malfoy was a great, bloody Viking, by Seventh Year. He towered, lithely. One could always find his bright head in a sea of company, whether it be in the Great Hall or flying on the Pitch or wherever, but always centre stage. He had presence, Scorpius Malfoy did, and he was built like a brick house besides, with biceps bulging nicely and a six-pack, an arse that curved like Greek statuary's and all that wild silver-gilt hair, tossing. Even when there was no wind blowing within miles, Malfoy's hair tossed, a vaporous nimbus 'round a face that was all at once fresh and healthy and almost preternaturally handsome. He kept his glorious mane mostly braided back out of his face as he grew older and it grew longer, and Several wondered if there might be Elf blood in the Malfoy line, since Scorp's well-shaped ears were on the pointy side, like his very nice straight nose. 'Course, Scorp's tasteful ear piercings enhanced that: two on each side, emeralds and rubies and, on the left, a tiny filigree cuff halfway up the cartilage.

Malfoy was a Gryffindor; the Sorting Hat had sent him off to that bench in the space of a split-second, and Several, who'd been chosen for—and gagging after, to be honest-Ravenclaw, narrowed his eyes across the intervening space in the Great Hall and pondered it But they'd met prior on the Express and been friendly enough with each other, though nothing out of the ordinary-not best mates, though-and Sev saw no reason why a Malfoy shouldn't be in Gryff House as much as Slytherin. History, as his Dad was fond of saying, didn't play into it. In fact, Several's Dad and Mum had taken pains to ensure their children never assumed that a person's name or family or background predetermined what sort they were. He and his brother and sister had been schooled as of Day One to be open-minded and tolerant to a fault. Harry Potter especially was an easy-going bloke, over all, except when it involved criminals. It seemed the Malfoys had educated their only son similarly—he was outgoing and super-friendly, and the other kids were prone to take an instant shine to him, straight off. Scorp Malfoy negated history, just by being.

Several took to Ravenclaw House like a mermaid to sea water. He adored books, and parchment, and freshly honed quills, and Auntie Hermione had coached him in elementary Arithmancy and Charms back when he was in Wizarding Day School. The restored Library at Hogwarts nearly gave him his first stiffie at the young age of eleven, he was so supremely happy to see stack after dusty stack of rare tomes and valuable scrolls.

Several and Scorp knew each other as well as any of the year-mates did—casually and in passing-for most of First and Second. Scorpius had made Gryffindor's Quidditch team via McGonagall's express decree (same as Sev's Dad had, back in the day) and was their prized Seeker, until he hit his growth spurt in Fourth and was sorted over to Keeper, same as Uncle Ron. Several had joined the Duelling Club and the Potion's Fanciers right away, and Scorpius was active in those, as well, when he wasn't deep into the Muggle Fencing Club and the Debate Team and the Drama Club and so forth. Malfoy Junior was one of those active over-achievers, and a day didn't go by without Several hearing about him and how he was so fanciable, or some harmless prank he and his Gryff mates had pulled, or a random act of courtesy or kindness or even bravery. It was little sick-making, actually, his popularity, and as Sev didn't care much for all that concentrated attention, no matter whom it was directed at, perhaps he went out of his way to avoid Scorpius's brilliant swathe through Hogwart's public arena. Or perhaps their paths simply ran parallel.

Jamie, being already well ensconced in Gryffindor Tower, had taken Scorpius under his wing, so Sev saw Scorp rather more than was usual outside school, both at the pro matches the Potters senior were such fans of and also whenever he was dragged along to scrums for the Junior English Quidditch League. Scorp and Jamie both played on the Select team and they went to Internationals two years running, with much media commotion accompanying. Mr. Malfoy and Sev's Dad had evidently begun a lively correspondence on that same subject somewhere along the year Sev and Scorp were ending Third and then continued it, over the following summer hols. Mr. Malfoy was already divorced by then—Several had heard the rumours, though Scorp seemed pretty much unaffected-and Dad and Mum had been having a few noticeable 'issues' themselves, as Mum called them. Dad had shrugged uncomfortably over it and said only that Several would understand when he was older, which was bollocks. Sev then spent a solid few months hating Scorpius just for daring to exist, because it seemed _his_ Dad could get along with Sev's, even when Sev's own arsehole father couldn't seem to manage living with Sev's own Mum. But he'd hated everyone else in the world, too, unconditionally; the onset of puberty not helping his emotional equilibrium, so it wasn't as if Scorpius Malfoy was some special case.

But that ill will sorted itself out, over time. Mum and Dad obtained their legal separation, and seemed happier for it. Lils arrived at Hogwarts finally and been instantly sorted to the happy-go-lucky Gryffs, where Scorpius adopted her immediately as the little sister he'd never had but claimed loudly he'd always wanted. And Scorp Malfoy continued to be an all-around alright bloke: good-looking, intelligent enough, friendly and unflappable, never turning a hair despite Sev's miserable little bout of angry resentment, and things were alright to be going on with between them by Fifth.

It was when his family was finally emerging, blinking but generally feeling positive, from the other side of the divorce and the Potter name being plastered all over the bloody _Prophet _again, that he and Scorp were by chance assigned to a project together in Care of Magical Creatures. They'd gotten along just fine cross-breeding and raising Varietal Poisonous Chirping Toads together for that six week span—swimmingly, to be sure-and Sev realized then that nature hadn't skimped a bit on Scorpius Malfoy's brainbox, Quidditch jock or not. The handsome git was smart as a whip, and not as gung-ho as some of the wilder Gryffs (like Jamie). And right fit, too. Even Several noticed _that_.

Kept right on noticing it, too, though he did his best to keep his traitorous eyes elsewhere. Three-quarters of Hogwarts openly adored Scorpius Malfoy and be damned if Several was signing up for his burgeoning fan club. It wasn't on, and besides, he'd his own rapidly emerging love life to think of. Mindy had been his first steady, but then they were too similar, really. He'd dated a Scamander till he'd realized even _he _couldn't tell them apart. Had a brief fling with one of the lower years—Aloysius Creevey, a slight blond boy with huge eyes who gave head like a champ-and then another with his own cousin, Rose, when she was broken up over her failed romance with that sodding arse Kilkenny Snipe, Hufflepuff's 'Hero Beater'.

Things went on, and Several noticed he and his brother and sister were more often than not traipsing off to Malfoy Manor for various long weekends and extended hols. Those two got along with Scorpius Malfoy like houses afire, always up to something barmy, but he and Scorp maintained a more reserved relationship. Dad's come out and his official taking up with Mr. Malfoy had emphasized that little distance between them, not erased it, and Several told himself he was good with that. No one should keep all his cockatrice eggs in one basket, and three Potters infatuated with two Malfoys was more than enough.

Not that they didn't chat, now and then, or continue to get along at Hogwarts. They were both objects of veneration by the lower classmen in Potions Fancier's and Duelling, by Sixth, and Scorpius was sure to be appointed Head Boy during Seventh. Sev simply made certain Scorpius never noticed his harmless little crush and, as he'd joined Drama Club as well, at Lil's nagging insistence, it wasn't difficult. He'd cultivated an easygoing front for ages by then, as most other Houses didn't appreciate the Ravenclaws' Type A intensity. It was a sodding cakewalk, deliberately not drawing Scorp's eye.

Seemed sometimes, though, that Malfoy did keep tabs on Several. He always seemed to know all about Sev's days when their fathers took them out to lunch on Hogsmeade weekends, at least.

It was only in Seventh that their various mates began lobbying seriously for the two of them to hook up. Lils especially was taken with the notion of a romance between her blood brother and her adoptive one. But the cadre of Ravenclaws Several was mates with had also analyzed the potential pairing—along with doing up a bloody colour-coded astrological chart and a logical sequencing-of-events timeline, which Sev had been presented with very publically in their Common Room, much his eternal shame—and wouldn't cease nattering on, pushing at Sev to take action. The profs all smiled and nodded approvingly whenever they noticed the two of them in the same social group and even Mum had practically given her middle child her blessing to pursue Scorp-if he cared to.

"It's alright, darling," she'd said, hugging him fiercely in a rare moment apart from Jamie and Lils. "I know you like him and he likes you, too, I think. And if there's one thing I've learnt from your Dad, Sev, it's that you can't fight chemistry. Don't worry your head too much over it, will you? Have some fun."

He'd grumbled and growled under his breath, squirming away, because what sixteen year old boy could stand being embraced by his own mother?

"I don't! Just because everyone else is his bleeding fan, don't make me out to be, Mum! S'not like that!"

But Mum had only giggled inanely, like a bloody girl, and then the two Malfoys and Dad had come along to breakfast, because they were all staying over at the Manor for Christmas, just like one big happy family. Even the Weasleys, and that was telling, what with Uncle Ron's lingering prejudice against the Malfoy lot.

Several frowned at Scorp's silk-clad chest, which was right before his nose at the moment, swaying in time to the beat, the thin cloth changing colours as the strobe lights did. His head pounded with the strains of the Muggle 'Just Dance!' and he truly wished he'd a clue as to how this had all happened. One moment he'd been consciously doing his best not to tumble headlong over Scorpius Malfoy; the next he'd fallen, no foul, no warning.

Probably it had been during that last production in Drama Club, when they'd worked on staging together and Scorp had also starred as the Muggle emo poster boy, Hamlet. He'd been exposed to Scorp's scent at close range all too often and his nose plainly adored it. And a Scorpius Malfoy decked out in black velvet jerkin, doublet and tight hose had been wank material of the highest order. Or it might've been when Scorp hexed that creep Fudworthy to a whimpering mass of boils after he was caught out stalking Sev's little sister right after they'd returned from Christmas break. Or it perhaps it was during the quiet study sessions they'd spent together, at the Manor first, then Grimmauld and then later, in April, at Dad's weekend cottage in tiny, rural Godric's Hollow. They'd never much to say to one another, but Several was always acutely aware of Scorpius Malfoy lounging about on his home turf as if he owned it, casual in tight denims and a Cannons jersey Grandma Molly made him, turning pages and scribbling notes for NEWTS.

Sev began to wonder seriously midway through Seventh if perhaps he was a bit obsessive, what with his undying fascination with Scorp's hands and lips and hair. And bits.

His heart had taken on a life of its own. It had silently traversed that polite little gap always between them and quietly taken up residence at Malfoy Junior's feet, jostling for place amongst a host of others. It jammed up his esophagus when Scorp was playing Quidditch in that last match against Slytherin; it reverberated so loudly during their shared Potions NEWT classes he was sure Scorp should be deafened whenever they partnered. It melted when they brushed up against each other accidently, which seemed to happen more and more often, as he was a Ravenclaw Prefect and Scorp was Head Boy and there were always meetings spent together, even when they weren't seeing one another in clubs or during weekends, or during the billions and billions of times Dad or Mr. Malfoy arranged for the gang of them to spend 'quality time getting to know one another'. Sev scoffed at that, and the asininity of adults in general. If he didn't know Scorpius Malfoy by now, when would he?

Fact was, he wanted the chance to know him even better. Seven years wasn't near enough. And there were only three days left—two, now—till graduation, and his opportunities were almost at an end.

He swallowed back terror, and insinuated his body such that Scorpius would be well nigh forced to touch him on the dance floor. Sev knew he wasn't a bad looking bloke—like his Dad in build and looks, almost a Mini-Me—and Mr. Malfoy had proven quite without doubt that Malfoys appreciated Potters physically (almost too much, really, but that was another story, and he'd made a practice of knocking first whenever Mr. Malfoy was about). Scorp could be enticed, maybe, if Sev played his hand right. It was a bow at a venture, certainly, but the odds weren't too scruffy. He'd calculated them for fun, just the other day. That chart his mates had given him might prove useful, yet.

Several swallowed again, firming his lips and knees and will.

It was bloody showtime.

**Two o'clock a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

"Stop that!" Scorp didn't say it aloud, but he wanted to. His dick was visibly interested and Several Potter was fucking snuggling up against it, swaying trim hips and blinking those great huge green eyes of his in a snogworthy manner. It was unconscionable, what Potters got away with. "Stop fucking with my head, you cretin!" Scorp wanted to say, but didn't. _Come closer._ Wanted to say that, too.

Scorp was in a bad way.

"You did mean it, right, Scorp? You were serious?" Several purred, still on about the excursion they seemed slated to take together, and Scorp heard him clear as a bell despite the raucous music because Sev had his lips pressed right up against Scorp's ear cuff. It was a lovely little bauble, that, and his Grandma Cissy had given it to him a few years ago on his birthday, and Scorp had had it engraved. 'Faith' read the scrolling letters that twined through the silvery filigree. Not 'good', not 'bad', just 'Faith.'

"'Cause I want to," Sev continued, not noticing Scorp's state. "So much."

'Faith.'

Faith in oneself, faith in the future, faith in good things coming out of awful, just like phoenixes rising. Scorp's Dad had nattered on about just that subject, talking away about prehistory one night when he was in his cups and he and Mr. Potter had had a little tiff. Saying as how he'd faith Mr. Potter wouldn't leave him even if Mr. Potter was an arse of the first degree and a contrary little cocksucker—they were _both_ arses, Scorp recalled thinking—and it would be forgotten and forgiven, their current brangle, because Mr. Potter was just like that. Scorp had nodded kindly and let his Dad blather unimpeded, watching him blink over-bright eyes and stroke away at the sides of his crystal tumbler of Firewhisky, all the while attempting to put a glad face on it and act the grown-up he was. But, too, he'd overheard much too much later, in the hallway upstairs, when Dad was not-quite-crying like a little tyke in what he must've thought was a private moment, though he obviously must've been drunk enough to forget the usual silencing charms on his suite's double doors. Mr. Potter had taken the whole of that long weekend to show his face again at the Manor, and Scorp had quite literally hated his guts for a straight forty-eight hours for variously being a twat and a berk and a git—and by association, Jamie _and_ Several, and even poor little Lils, too—for having a father who'd let someone else's Dad's heart crumble to pieces like that.

But it was over almost instantly, their fight, and he'd almost cast up his gut when they reconciled—two grown men shagging against the wall by the heirloom hall-tree in broad daylight was _so_ not on, it was bloody criminal. Scorp had been glad, though, that they'd made up, if a little stiff 'round Mr. Potter afterwards. But Mr. Potter made Dad happy in ways no one else could and he'd seen those trademark green eyes flare into brilliant life whenever they looked his Dad's way. One could almost touch the connection, a golden cord binding them. Strained at times, yes, but never broken.

It was probably love, after all, and likely it would endure. Scorp sure hoped so, for his Dad's sake. And he'd wondered, after, just what Several would look like if he fancied someone like that. Had wanked to his wondering, as he'd wanked over Several Potter a thousand times before that.

…Maybe like _this_. The way he looked just now, peeping up at Scorp with his bright eyes at half-mast behind those ridiculous spectacles he affected and sporting that peculiar little feline smile on his narrow olive-skinned face. Smitten and willing, easy and open.

It was entrancing. Scorp swayed dizzily and gathered Sev closer, well away from the other blokes' interested stares. Too many drunkards here, and too many older gits on the make for his comfort, and Sev wasn't up for grabs even if they were in a club known for its lack of seemly decorum.

"Come here," Scorp growled, and took the terrifying plunge like a man, a Malfoy and a Wizard. "Of course I meant it, you teasing little prick. I don't lie, ever. Have a little faith, Sev Potter."

**2:01 a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

"Brill," Several choked out, though he was gagging on the gravity of his own actions. Heart over a windmill; foot in the door—'all for one', and all that rot. Every classical reference to the Muggles' unsung heroes, every learned allusion to the Wizarding World's own champions-Merlin and Arthur and even his own stupid Dad-they overwhelmed him, crashed over him. He was his own hero, for once.

He'd done it.

And conversely, he was so very at risk at this moment, it wasn't even funny, not on any planet, much less this one. He was at the mercy of Scorpius Malfoy-now.

Several was so fucking mortified, he almost shat himself.

And then Scorpius wrapped those fucking toned biceps 'round Sev's own fairly decent shoulders and they were slow-dancing up close and personal to a Muggle club rave, which was entirely inappropriate.

"I'm blue," the music blared, but Several wasn't. He was crimson-faced and hotter than Fiendfyre in his boxers, and fucking fit Scorpius Malfoy had him tied in knots and twists, just by bloody breathing.

"I'm blue, da-ba-dee-da-ba-die," Eiffel 65 chanted, but Sev heard only the thud of Scorp's heartbeat. Nothing else.

**2:02 a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

"Fuck me!" Scorp muttered, when he twigged Several's dick was as hard as his own. Couldn't help but notice—his cock was budged solidly right there, up against Scorp's flexing thigh.

"Fuck _me_…." he breathed aloud and closed his straining eyes, oddly grateful. His chest cavity would never be the same, not with all the organs inside twitching about like this, and then there was his insane bloodstream, which was totally wonky. Champagne-filled, so much so he thought he might very well sneeze.

"Alright there, Sev?" Scorp croaked when he able, as he was occupied with spinning and swaying very slowly, pretty much rooted by his sharp new dragonhide boots to the one small section of the club's sticky floor, and nearly Petrified with it. He winced stiffly when the other dancers glared and bumped shoulders viciously, but could only shift himself the merest bit, shielding his partner, and glare daggers at the arsewipes who so clearly wanted them to move faster than a crawl.

_Say yes, please. Say yes, so I'm not forced to die of humiliation right here and right now_, Scorpius begged of his dance partner silently, and then waited for some sign, breath bated. And waited... _Nod or something, or I'm doomed, you blighter._

"Yeah," Several allowed, finally. "Me, too."

His voice was rusty, as though he was in much the same precarious state Scorp was: strung out on close contact, ears pinned back like a startled Abraxan and ready to bolt the pasture at any moment. "Let's, um, let's just do this for a bit…alright?" Sev added, heaving a broken breath, and Scorp felt his chest cavity loosen. _Now_ he got exactly why two grown men could shag like fucking hares in the most public place in the Manor—_now_ he understood. He was amazed they'd not just shagged on the front lawn and been done with it.

He would've, if it had been Sev showing up after an argument. He would've-would, given half a chance to make that crucial point in a potential relationship. But right now, he settled for a simple agreement.

"Oh, yes. Yes."

**2:05 a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

Neither uttered another word, only danced.

What they _said_ (without words, of course) was this:

"I didn't _know_—why didn't you _tell_ me, you arse?"

"I wanted to, but you—you're so—_so_."

"So _what_, stupid? So gaga over you I can't speak? So far gone it's fucking hopeless?"

"For so long, so very, very long, I've wanted…I've wanted you."

"I've been watching _you_ all along, git—hoping. I've been gagging on it. You're not alone, you know? Never alone."

"I didn't think—our stupid fucking dads; why do they have to do this? It got in the way, and then I thought-_Lils_. Lils. Jealous of my own little sister—fucking pathetic."

"_I_ was the jealous one—_so_ jealous. Wanted to scratch that bitch Mandy Something's eyes out; wanted to hex that little Creevey twerp to a pile of ashes. Wanted you—wanted you—wanted you."

"Wanted to snog _you_. Think I saw you at the platform and wanted it even then. Want to kiss you _now_."

Scorpius growled—Several stifled a laugh; the git _was_ just like his father, sometimes; all Malfoy—and manhandled Sev against him, angling that perfect dimpled chin of his in a challenge.

"Wanna make something of this?"

**2:10 a.m., The Paphian, Perfection Alley, London.**

Tectonic plates.

The Thames rushing to the ocean.

Inevitable, and with a minor crashing of noses and Several's swallowed yelp of pain as Scorp trod heavily on his toes with a boot heel.

Perfection in motion, for some amount of time uncounted, but a very long time coming.

Till they stumbled and slammed off the dance floor, and Apparated as one to the Alley outside.

"Well!" exclaimed a Scamander, from a booth tucked away in the back of the Paphian. "That tears it!"

"Five Galleons," said the other, calmly sticking his hand out. "Non-believer."

**2:16 a.m., Perfection Alley, London.**

"Hah!" Several gasped, straining. "A_ha_! We'll—we'll be _seen_, you fucktard!"

"Bring it!"

Several had never cum in public. Never, ever cum with his back scraping up against a brick wall and his cock out, wet and quivering in a fanciable bloke's mouth, swallowed down to the hilt. Had never had his bollocks milked or his arse cheeks rhythmically pumped by hot sweaty palms nor smelt the intoxicating, overwhelming scent of gin, bitters and limey perspiration rising like a cloud off a Norse godling's braided bright-white hair.

Had never had his knees buckle from creeping weakness nor his hips grasped and bruised by ten separate digits that claimed him, body and soul. Had never conceived of simply giving in to the urge to lay down on his bare back on the dirty pavers and spread his legs wide in a alley next to a dance club-and before a giggling lot of snorting drunken Witches wearing too much makeup and not enough fabric and a distracted bouncer, as well. Had never had his innards sucked out though his leaky slit by a fucking master of giving head.

Wanted it to happen again, though. Often.

**2:21 a.m., Perfection Alley, London.**

"Salty git! Eew! And you _reek_ of beer!" Scorp was _not_ thinking. He'd just cum mostly untouched in his too-tight Muggle denims; it was chilly, damp and horribly late—or early-and he was wobbly on his scraped kneecaps and fucking grateful. But not _thinking_, particularly much. "Want some coffee, now," he added, leaning familiarly against Sev's cum-and-spit streaked pubes. "Get some?"

"I think I love you," Several Potter faltered, and let his dark head thunk back against the mortared wall. All the silly Witches had gone away, along with their infernal squeals, and the Paphian's bouncer wasn't apparent. Several had just been thoroughly stripped of any masks he'd ever worn 'round Scorpius Malfoy. _And_ his boxers _and_ his killer hard-on. Grand, yeah?

He let his fingers burrow deep into that sleek pelt of satiny gilt, both gentle and fierce as he hung on to Scorp's scalp, trembling withal. He did—he _did_! He _so_ did. Fact and not fancy. No lie.

"I…do, don't I?"

"Dumb arse," Scorp mumbled fondly, nuzzling into the crease of Sev's thigh, inhaling in tickling puffs and snorts. "'Course you do. Can't fight chemistry, Potter."

**Three o'clock, the Gates of Hogwarts and within.**

"My room," Several was insisting as he trotted. "I'm not climbing those fucking stairs. Ravenclaw's closer."

"No way!" Scorp protested, arm slung 'round Sev's shivering shoulders. "You share a room—_I_ don't, arsehole. Gryffindor it is."

"No, no, no," Several grumbled, ducking and dodging the possessive arm purely due to late night temper. "Don' wanna. Can't force me, neither."

"Little prick." Scorp was playing Patience, his glance affectionate as he urged Sev up a stairwell despite himself. "Look, I'm not sleeping without you, not tonight. Just—just do it, alright? For me, please?" He risked his own version of that patented Potter puppy dog act, grey eyes innocent and wide when they sought out Sev's droopy green ones.

"Stupid—you bloody _fail_ at that, wanker," pronounced Several roundly, after a long assessing moment ticked by whilst he squinted. "But…fine," he went on, sighing dramatically, as if the weight of the world had fallen square on his shoulders and he, a modern day Atlas, had to bear it, giving over on this one favour. "Just make sure to wake me. I've morning rounds."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Scorp replied promptly, facetiously, and snogged Sev at every staircase swing up Gryffindor Tower.

**6:15 a.m., Hogwarts, Head Boy's Quarters, Gryffindor Tower.**

"Ummmmm," Scorpius stretched when his wand chimed softly and popped his silvery eyes open. Light was creeping on kneazle paws through the curtains; his pupils contracted instantly. "Mmm. Oh, time, Sev. Get up!"

Several blinked blearily, but he'd not actually been asleep. He'd woken a little after half five, feeling both incredibly refreshed by less than two hours sleep—an anomaly, that-and very well used, up his hole. Excellently well-used, in fact. It was a lovely feeling, this chemistry idea; points to Mum and Scorp for that.

"So…Machu Picchu," Several urged, bleary but not one to waste a single vital moment, and poked his bedmate in the ribs for emphasis. "You were saying."

"Yes? What of it?" Scorpius replied, groaning and rolling over to jab Sev fondly in return. He smiled sweetly, and it was more glorious a sight than the June morning out the room's slit of a window.

Several grinned stupidly in return (Scorp just did that to him, the nit; must be all those shiny teeth and broad bared shoulders) and blinked rapidly against the glitter of tanned pink, white-on-white and grey dazzle. "I want to go to them; you said you'd take me, yeah? So, um…when, exactly?"

Scorpius edged closer, and bent his neck, pursed lips pecking at the tip of Sev's nose. Sev noted the prat had morning breath: a curious mix of Colombian beans, heavy cream and Boodles. Several huffed the fumes like an addict.

"Blow off Flamel and I will."

"What? Huh? No!" Sev was appalled. He'd worked long and hard for his opportunity at Flamel. Research fellowships didn't just sprout on trees! "No effing way!"

"Way," Scorp nodded wisely, as if he were the Headmistress and simply knew these things. "Take the coming year off with me. Go on a Walkabout, Sev. We're only young once."

"You fucking idiot!"

Sev sat straight up in bed, snorting at such irresponsible Gryffindor insanity, wrestling the bounteous pillows into submission behind his suddenly ramrod straight spine with a vengeance. "I can't just do that—they'd oust me in ten seconds flat! Dad had to pull strings to even have me considered! And-and what about Gringott's? Dad said you've a position practically handed you on a platter! You can't just throw that away!"

"I can," Scorpius sat up, too, and his arms—oh, those arms—were busy twining 'round Sev's waist and lower back, shoving pillows aside willy-nilly, long wicked fingers petting and stroking up Sev's arms and into his morning mop, till Several found himself being jollied out of his tizzy ever so gradually. "I _can_, and it's not throwing anything away, Sev. Not at all. Just think, yeah? Before you say no? You're the one who's supposed to be good at it, aren't you? So do it. Whenever else will we have this chance?"

"Bah!" Sev struggled feebly against clingy squid arms, but didn't get very far. "Bollocks, Scorp! You're barmy!" But Scorp was a Quidditch jock, after all, and Sev, though he was fit enough, was hampered by his morning stiffie—or rather, by the hand that had just curled warmly 'round the base of his rigid shaft, stroking fitfully. "Buggerall, Scorp, let me up!" Sev begged desperately. "I have shite to do! I'll catch hell from McGonagall! And you're bloody barking! I don't have time for this!"

"You do," Scorp insisted, and casually licked Sev's ear—a quick tongue tip snaking across the outer edge of the scallop-and Sev subsided altogether, defeated. The hand pulsated rhythmically 'round his happy dick, and his brain (usually a needle-sharp, highly calibrated instrument in the early morning hours) was fuzzing out to La La Land. Totally understandable, of course: it was very early, almost too early, though oddly enough and despite all the alcohol consumed over all the many hours they'd spent crawling pubs, neither had been shite-faced by the time they tumbled into Scorpius's room, well into the wee. No, they'd been fairly clear-headed, both of them, if a little wild-eyed on caffeine and cumming. And love, defined categorically as 'mutual'.

Love. Fuck, what a concept.

"Stay with me," Scorpius murmured, and those fingertips did a tango up Sev's cock and down the other side. "Just a little longer. And consider." There was that wicked-good tongue again, vibrating as Scorp hummed into Sev's ear. "It's not a half bad idea, if you'd just give it a fighting chance, Sev."

"Mmmm," Sev sniffed and shifted, shoving his dick so that it was forced more firmly into Scorp's sticky palm. He fumbled about under the sheet till he found what he suddenly rather had to have, and caressed a heated hip and curly pubes in passing, skating his own hand softly till he located Scorp's prick. Scorp's long and delicious prick and it was currently in the exact same condition as his own, Sev observed. Ready to pop, that was. Ripe as peaches.

With a pump, that gorgeous organ grew harder yet between his fingers. Sev panted as he was fondled, excitement building—Scorp had _his_ cock firmly grasped and was matching movements. Parallel paths had somehow converged to identical. Fucking love.

"Stay," Scorpius entreated yet again, his mouth sliding wetly down the arc of a corded throat to the rounded curve of Several's bared shoulder, "and don't simply trash my idea right off. We'll be taking up real jobs soon enough, Sev. It's time to play a little; have some real fun. Be together, away from all of them."

"W-Why do we need to go away to do that?" Sev's eyelids, which had been in the process of sliding shut in mindless ecstasy, flew open again with a startled twitch. He peered at Scorpius in anxious confusion. "They won't mind—wait, will they?"

"No, of course not, idiot," Scorp chuckled, gaining an even more masterful grip on Sev's bits. His grey eyes twinkled as he nuzzled lips across the faint dark stubble scattered across Several's olive-toned jaw. He pulled back to grin slyly. "But they will be on our arses every moment of every day, straight from the moment they realize, and they _will_ take our lives over in ten seconds elapsed. You know my Dad—he'll fuss up a storm and then rent us a flat, and then menace the Flamel chaps into organizing you an extension or allowing you to Apparate in and out instead of rooming in the dorms. And _your_ Dad will do his hero-ing thing with the _Prophet_ and we'll be all sorted before we even know it and me…well, I want some time, first. With you."

"…In case you change your mind, you mean?" It was the first thought that struck Several, and the worst. True, it had been brilliant, the shagging, the attraction—the consuming thrill of being avidly desired, but…But. What if this didn't last? Better not to be burnt—better to stay friends and pseudo-family members than cause all sorts of awkwardness later. It was just his own huge crush to deal with. Slow-growing, long enduring crush, yes, but still a crush. Love?

What was love? Well, it was a damned scary monster, first off.

"Sodding idiot," Scorp replied.

Scorpius, on the other hand, had not once ceased his stupid smiling. He was totally mental, of course, but there were no visible qualms there; no worries that Sev could see. There was something to be said, Several admitted, for the high-powered confidence of a Gryffindor Malfoy—it was a brilliant, self-renewing, resilient thing, Scorp's bloody determination. And it was all focused on Sev, at this moment.

He wore that charming trademark grin, pale eyebrows arched quizzically, and not much else but the coverlets, yet still he radiated such incredible, unbelievable assurance—cheerful assurance, not arrogance at all. In fact, Scorp's whole fit person was smiling brilliantly at Several; Sev gazed hungrily at the incipient laugh lines Scorp would no doubt have when he grew older, the good humour that always lurked deep in those amazing Malfoy eyes, the subterranean silent laughter that set that perfect body of his both a'shiver and a'light, like an angel come to earth. He was all things joyful, Scorpius Malfoy, in Sev's mind. He was—exactly what Sev wanted next to him…needed. And he was shaking his unmistakable Malfoy head very slowly and patiently at Sev's doubtful face and anxious gaze, as if having a damned hearty internal guffaw over the ridiculousness of ever possibly changing his mind about this.

"So?" Scorp demanded. "What d'you say?"

"Yes, alright," Sev replied abruptly, green eyes narrowing sharply as Scorp finally paused his stroking hand—the one on Sev's cock. He knew of Malfoys; they never gave up, damn them. And they took out their revenge in flesh. He nodded sharply at his own change of heart, wasting no more time on regrets and worries. "Alright, you _win_, wanker. We'll do it. Damn the consequences—we'll do it."

The seductive fingers took up their cadence again, dancing. Whatever love was, Several _liked_ cumming. Cumming with Scorp. Talking with Scorp. Simply _being_. With Scorp. End of story.

"There's my little Potterling," his brand-new lover chuckled. "Daddy's reckless Ravenclaw, aren't you? But isn't hereditary chemistry just grand, Sev? Potent shite."

"…Silly sod," Sev mumbled, flushing. He dove for Scorp's chest, so he could hide his tell-tale grin. "I'll give you potent. You're just happy because you've won—arse!"

"No, I'm just happy 'cause you're here," Scorpius mumbled, and helped himself to another nip at Sev's scarlet earlobe. _Fantastic._ "And that's pretty fucking elementary, Sherlock."

**Finite**


End file.
